Frankie

By Sharon Killingsworth

Fresh out of juvie, eighteen-year-old Frank Moreno returns home to the same problems he’d left —- his older sister’s precarious life with her pimping boyfriend, drugs and easy money. In order to protect his sister, Frankie’s forced to do a little work for her pimp. He quickly finds himself pulled back into the dark world of crime. He senses his longtime girlfriend pulling away, but he’s determined to get his sister, and himself, away from her abusive boyfriend — even if it forces him to leave his girl and his friends behind.
Gang rivalry doesn’t die easily. His best buddies continue to pull at him, searching for
his leadership, but Frankie’s done, ready to leave that world. With help from his mentor, an ex-gang leader himself, they plan an escape to a new life.
Will Frankie’s complicated past put an end to his dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798369421017

Sharon Killingsworth

Sharon Killingsworth is the author of many short stories including “E Street Trailer Park” and ”Good Cat.” Her short story “Born to Ride” appeared in the anthology Stories and Poems from Close to Home published in 1986, and her racetrack story “Crazy Sally” appeared in the 2015 anthology Carry the Light. Her first book, Zero, was published in 2010. This is her second novel. She is a native Californian and makes her home in Mountain View, California.

Book preview

FRANKIE

1959

Chapter 1

Starting over? He hoped so. Frankie was ready. Ready for a normal life. Of course, he’d never had a normal life. So how could he even know if he had one or not? Well, what the shit. His girl was back from Catholic school and enrolled in city college. And he had a part-time job at Ouzo’s Garage doing oil changes, working a little on the cars. Franco Ouzo, owner of the small repair shop, said he could make a good mechanic out of him. Maybe so. At least stuff was going better than it had several months ago, when he’d been cooling his heels in Forrester Juvenile.

His previous entanglement in gang life had been as war lord for a street gang called the Regents. That was the only life Frankie had known since he was fifteen. With a notorious street rep, he’d been wild and a little crazy. So crazy that when his own gang disbanded, he’d joined up with the rival gang, the Bishops. But that lasted only a few miserable months before ending in an all-out fight, a shooting and a third stint in juvie.

He was eighteen and a half now, ready to move on to a new life. He’d sprouted some in juvie and was a slim 5’10", with brown eyes, dark, wavy hair and the perfect ducktail haircut. Almost movie-star handsome, or so he’d been told.

But his world was different now, changed forever. And change wasn’t always easy.

*         *         *

Hey, Frankie?

The ring of that sweet voice, music to his ears. He rolled out from under a green ’49 Ford and glanced up into Liz’s blue eyes. Hi, babe. Scrambling to his feet, he smiled at the pretty blonde standing before him. He pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket, attempted to wipe the grease off his hands. What’s up?

Just heading home. Thought I’d better stop by. She pushed a long strand of hair behind her ear. I wanted to tell you . . . She hesitated, her face clouding over. I’ve got a ton of homework to do, Frankie — a paper to write. I don’t think I’ll be able to go to the Y dance tonight.

Again? A frown darkened his face. That’s crazy, babe. You can study during the day. Right? You don’t need to be going to those classes, anyway. What’s it gonna get you? Of course, he knew why she had to go, her parents insisted — a condition of her moving back home. And she’d even told him a couple of times herself that she wanted to graduate from college and maybe go into teaching kindergarten.

Sorry. I can’t go. She sighed heavily, her lips pursing into that pouty look. You know why.

Yeah, maybe he did, but he didn’t understand it. Well, the parent part he got — her parents wanted to get her away from him, that was for damn sure. But the college stuff? He didn’t understand. And now here she was, looking so damn hot in that black sweater and skirt, long blond hair falling down over her shoulders and telling him she couldn’t go to the dance with him? C’mon, babe, he groaned, stepping towards her. Just come. Sneak out.

Those blue eyes flashed for just a second. I’m sorry. I can’t.

Frankie threw his grease-stained hands up in despair. Tomorrow night? You still alright with dinner at Lennie and Sheila’s? he asked, a sharp edge to his voice. Not that he really wanted to go — knowing flat out he wasn’t on Sheila’s most favorite person list. Lennie says Sheila’s trying out some new recipe. He could care less — but he knew Liz wanted to go. And he’d do just about anything to make her happy.

Sure, I can come tomorrow. She stepped forward on tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him, careful not to get too close to his greasy shirt. Counting on it.

He bent down and kissed her back, her soft lips moved against his, accepting. Change your mind about tonight? His tone urgent.

She smiled a sad smile and shook her head. See you tomorrow, babe. I have to finish that paper. She tossed her long hair and walked toward the sidewalk. Glancing back once, she blew him a kiss.

Shit.

Frankie sent the oily rag flying at the waste barrel sitting at the entrance of the open garage door. Friday night and no date?

Double shit.

Chapter 2

Frankie lit a smoke, leaned up against the freshly painted wall of the community center’s main building. Waiting. He watched as several couples and excited groups of teens entered through the double doors. The Friday night dance was a big deal in the neighborhood. The thudding bass of Elvis’ Jailhouse Rock banged out into the night air, making it seem all the more inviting.

Rocky and Mikey, their girlfriends glued to their sides, turned back from the entrance when they saw him. Both girls looked hot — tight dresses. Red.

Hey, Frankie. Rocky called, his dark hair shiny under the auditorium’s bright outside lights. Where’s Liz?

Studyin’.

Mikey groaned, brushed a strand of blond hair back off his forehead. Studying? It’s Friday night, man. You gotta be kidding.

I wish, Frankie muttered.

Well, come on in anyway, Rocky said, his dark-haired girlfriend tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. Not the black Regent jacket of their glory days when they ran the neighborhood, ruled the streets, but a washed-out denim one.

Just like the jacket Frankie wore tonight, the same as Mikey — the three boys almost identical in looks and dress. Jeans, white T-shirts, jackets, ducktail haircuts. Inseparable, like brothers.

Frankie shook his head. Naw, you guys go ahead. I hate dances.

Me, too, Rocky grinned, trying to dance away from Carla’s grasp. But he didn’t move fast enough to escape her playful punch to his ribs.

You don’t hate dances, she said, unlatching herself from his arm. She stepped up to Frankie and tugged on the front of his jacket, batted her mascara-covered lashes. "You don’t hate dances either, Frank Moreno. Especially slow dances. You know I’ll dance with you anytime. Anytime at all."

He raised his eyebrows, glanced over at Rocky and grinned. His buddy grinned back.

C’mon, Carla purred, tossing her brown hair. Her hand slipped under Frankie’s jacket and she pushed herself up against his chest. Scared Liz’ll get mad? Before he could answer, she burst out laughing. Just kidding, she said, returning to Rocky’s side. Just kidding.

Pretty tempting. Frankie winked. A hard offer to refuse.

Then c’mon in, Mikey urged. He glanced down at the cute blonde at his side. Missy’d love to dance with you, too.

Missy let out a surprised laugh, blue eyes twinkling. Sure, I’d love to dance with you, Frankie. She pursed her pink-colored lips at him. "You know how much I love you," she teased.

Yeah, I know, I know. Frankie nodded. You guys go on ahead. I’m gonna go over to Mac’s for awhile. Play a little pool.

Missy let out a dramatic groan and latched herself tighter onto Mikey’s arm.

Maybe not a good idea, Rocky warned, cocking his head. What if you run into Silky?

Yeah, well . . . Frankie flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk. Rocky was right. Not a good idea. But what the hell? Didn’t have anything better to do anyway. Catch you guys later.

Both girls put on their pouty-faces and looked at him with big sad eyes before dragging their guys up the steps toward the main door.

Frankie turned away. Street lamps spread pools of dim light on the sidewalk before him. When Liz wasn’t around, when he couldn’t be with her, he didn’t seem to have any focus, any interest in doing anything. And it was crap without the gang to hang with, to count on. He was three years with the Regents, since his sophomore year, and there was always something going on — rumbles, heists, just goofing off. And being war lord had given him a constant high, which had been both good and bad. But now it was all gone. Over. The bullet hole in his side should’ve made him glad he was out of it all. But it didn’t.

The red neon sign in the window of Mac’s Pool Hall pulsated, called to him. He hadn’t been in there for over six months. Before the shooting. Before juvie. There was always a chance his sister’s main man, her pimp, would be there. And that would be bad news. Silk maintained an office in Mac’s back storage room where he ran some of his deals. All of which Frankie knew a little too much about.

He pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the warm stuffiness. Loud. Crowded. Little Richard the background music for a busy Friday night. An uncomfortable feeling seeped into his body — his fingers slid up and down on the open front of the denim jacket — rough and unfamiliar, missing the feel of the black nylon he’d worn for years.

Hey, Moreno! Long time no see.

Glancing over at the heavy-set man behind the bar. Mac himself. Frankie pushed through the noisy crowd and slid onto the one empty stool. Lookin’ good, man, Frankie said, a smile slipping onto his face. Mac was an okay guy, even though he covered for Silk. But what the hell?

A beefy hand pushed a drink towards him across the shiny, always polished bar. On the house, Frankie. So how’s life been treating you?

Okay. His fingers closed around the glass. He hesitated, then raised it to his lips. Whiskey. It went down smooth. Mac had always served him, even though underage. Silk probably had something to do with that. Silk had a motto: Screw the law. Screw the cops. He took another sip. Just tryin’ to stay outta trouble.

Ha! Mac laughed, a smile crossing his ruddy face. Then you came to the wrong place.

That rang true. What the fuck was he doing in here anyway? Another mistake.

He’d just have this one drink and leave.

You looking for Silky?

Frankie shook his head. No. Panic hit for a second.

He’s not here tonight, Mac offered.

Frankie took another swallow, relieved for the moment, then finished off the shot and stood up.

I’ll tell Silky you’re looking for him. Mac pulled the empty glass away.

No. Frankie already feeling the buzz of the alcohol. Don’t bother. I’ll. . . I’ll catch up with him later.

Mac shrugged his shoulders. Whatever you say.

Pushing himself away from the bar, Frankie waved a hand at Mac and headed towards the door. Later.

Cold air hit him as he stepped outside. Far different from the warm smokiness of the bar.

Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he walked the few blocks to Liz’s house. A light was on in her second-story bedroom. The shades were down. He leaned up against the chain-link fence across the street — a security fence that had gone up in preparation for a new house to be built on the large empty lot. The city was sprucing-up the neighborhood. He stood there awhile, went through several smokes, watching. It seemed a long time before the upstairs light went out.

Sirens in the distance made him jump, catch his breath. He dumped his last cigarette and headed home — past the loudness of Mac’s Pool Hall, past the darkness of Michelson’s Pawn Shop, past the alley that led to the old Regent clubhouse — now off limits and padlocked.

Dark, cold, empty.

Chapter 3

The phone was ringing as he slipped the key into the lock. He shut the door behind him and plopped onto the sofa, scooped up the receiver. Yeah?

Frankie? Liz. Her soft voice louder than usual. I’ve been calling. Where were you?

Oh-oh, careful. Just went over to the dance for a few minutes. Rocky an’ Mikey were there with the girls.

Did you go in?

Naw. Caught ’em outside. Hey, think you can slip out? He already knew the answer, but it never hurt to try.

I’d love to, her voice soft again,